


the dadalorian files

by m00nie



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, mando realizing that he is in charge of a literal baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28329162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m00nie/pseuds/m00nie
Summary: Random drabbles, probably going to mainly be fluff and learning how to parent, with perhaps a side of speculation about Grogu.
Comments: 35
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These probably will be jumping around through the series, wherever my attention goes to haha

The kid smelled awful. Which wasn’t surprising, considering his stubby legs would sometimes unceremoniously trip him into some muck, he’d put anything he could into his mouth, and didn’t understand the concept of a napkin. And, obviously, couldn’t reach anything to wash himself. 

So he bathed the kid. In a cramped little pseudo-shower, full armor on, as the bugger went between shrieking and catching water in his mouth. Oh, and washing his armor with the soap suds before they fell down the drain. 

Mando sighed, rinsed the kid off, wrapped him in the way too large towel he owned, and vowed to clean his armor later that night. He put him on the edge of the sink, unsure what came next. The kid stared at him. He stared at the kid. He took out a hairbrush, put it back, quickly considered if he was supposed to shave the babe, and took out a toothbrush. 

He didn’t know if the toothpaste would hurt. But the kid put everything in his mouth, so.

He pried open the little mouth, talking and shushing his way through. Surprisingly, he wasn’t met with much resistance, had someone done this before? Before Mando could ponder, he remembered that he didn’t have time for another baby past related crisis. 

And then, because he was mid-brushing the child’s teeth, he remembered the child had teeth. Which were sharp. And surrounded by gums, which in some places had tiny little points starting to come through. 

He rinses the kid’s mouth out, puts him in his absurdly small and increasingly thread bear tunic that he wears under his robes. The child is floppy at this point, eyes fluttering, so it barely takes any effort for the Mandalorian to put him to bed. 

So. The kid has teeth. And more coming. He didn’t really know if this would be an issue or not, but the kid would need more clothes, either way. And Mando would have to invest in a better laundry system soon. Probably a better fresher too. Unless he could fit the child into the sink, which, considering his size, was actually seeming like the best option from now on.


	2. Chapter 2

After the wire incident, it occurred to Din that he never really taught the kid things. Well, he taught him probably plenty of things by showing him around the universe as a co-bounty hunter, but the only things he taught directly were names of weapons and constellations. So far, that was really the closest the child had gotten to schooling.

Thus, as the one in charge of the growth and protection of the foundling until further notice, he did what anybody would do.

“Red, blue, green, yellow, black, pink,” he says, pointing to each item as its color came up.

The child stared back at him with his big brown eyes.

“Which one is yellow, kid?”

The child ponders for a moment and grabs the black piece of metal.

“No,” Mando says gently, putting the item back, “this is yellow,” he holds the kid’s hand and hovers it over the excess yellow cable he found in a repair kit. “Yellow.”

The child just coos and tries to put it in his mouth.

He sighs. Maybe he should have started smaller? How much did this kid even know? “Can you show me blue?”

....could the kid be color blind? What was even normal for his species?

The child knits his brows together, and reaches for the blue scrap of fabric, looking up every so often as if the helmet would show him what’s right or wrong.

“Yes! Yes!! That’s blue!”

After a few more rounds, he deemed the “schooling” successful. Little did the Mandalorian know for the next week, the child would continuously shove things in his face, wondering what color they were. 


	3. Chapter 3

Grogu slept on his chest, because for some reason he had decided a long while ago that beskar armor is the most luxurious of blankets. Mando watches, sees his little chest go up and down, his mouth slightly open, asleep on one of his arms and an ear pressed to Mando’s chest as if he’s trying to listen for something. He pets the soft wispy hairs on the child and Grogu sleeps like a rock through it.

Grogu. What an interesting little name. He catches himself wondering who first picked the child up and gave him that—he remembers his mom saying something special about the name she and his father picked out for himself, but that conversation was long lost to time.

He sighs to himself. A fifty-something-year-old baby, raised in a temple, then shuffled around as cargo for the greedy. Was he even born in the temple, or was he a Jedi foundling? He doesn’t know what a Jedi even entails. Would there be more like Grogu, or was it moreso a creed such as the Mandalorians? Recent evidence points to the latter, and somehow, that calms him slightly. Maybe Grogu won’t be a Mandalorian, but he’d still have something to go by in life.

He lets the child grab ahold of a finger with his free hand. No matter what happened, he’d probably always be a foundling. Now it was just a question of would he end up a foundling of— people who could help him, or a foundling of a Mandalorian who’s risked his life more than enough times.

Even though it was obvious, Mando didn’t know which would be better for the child.


	4. Chapter 4

He sighed— middle of a bartering deal and the child had messed himself. The child looked back at him with his big sad eyes, just emanating apologies, and a mix of fear.

“It’s okay,” he whispers to the child and faces back at the stall owner, “excuse us, my friend has a... problem.” 

The owner grunts and nods, putting the item under the stall and turns to another potential customer.

———

“Okay, next time you have to go,” he paused, wracking his brain for a solution, “do this,” thank  _ stars _ that he learned sand people lingo— Mando made a fist, putting his thumb between the first and second finger, and shook it side to side. 

The child copied him. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he smiled behind his mask, “you’re doing great. Next time you need to go just do that.”

By the time they get back, the item had been sold to a higher bidder— annoying but not impossible. Just meant he had to get creative on getting the job done. 

———

It takes the child longer than he thought to actually use it though. Mando knew that he knew, it was  _ obvious _ that he knew— anytime he asked what the kid should do if he needed the vac tube, the kid replied the same. Every. Single. Time. So it wasn’t a memory issue, or an age issue, but something… deeper. Something different. 

He wonders if it was the same something that made the kid more eager to hunt on his own than asking for food. The habit had gotten to the point he had started hiding food inside his crib, which Mando would be completely fine with if it wasn’t always meat that rotted all too quickly. 

He’s out of his league, and he knows it. So he sighs and keeps moving forward. Such is the way. 

———

Ahsoka says that Grogu’s mind goes to dark places after the Jedi temple, and everything uncomfortably clicks into place. 

He should have known. To an extent, he did know. 

It haunts him, in a way. Din has dreams of plucking Grogu up from the Jedi temple before anyone else did, having him grow up underground, being taught properly in the ways of the Mandalorian. Seeing the smile when Grogu first sees his own helmet. He doesn’t know how old the kid was then though, so the fantasy usually morphs into them growing up together as siblings, and Mando watching over him for as long as Grogu needs to grow up. A clan of two.

...How long was Grogu alone in his crib?

It’s not a pleasant thought. None of it was. His foundling was in pain, an all too familiar pain that Mando couldn’t just shoot his way out of. 

It felt easier to dream. But that wasn’t their reality. 

He had to admit, despite what had happened Grogu had gotten better.  _ Din himself _ had gotten better. Grogu was loud to announce what he needed, and if he didn’t, Din knew his cues well enough to care for him anyway. 

He was still hurt, though. And if 50 was infantile for Grogu, how could Mando— or anyone, really, even the Jedi, make sure this wouldn’t happen to him again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Context- sometimes a trauma response to being neglected for so long is to stop asking for anything, because you know you won’t be tended to. These babies are usually seen as abnormally good-natured and easy to take care of. Idk how child psychology would work for Grogu but when I see the fact he was probably left in a cradle for hours at a time with no light or faces, all I can think of is like… those child neglect cases where the kid just. Gives up. They don’t know any better. All they know is that they’re alone. 
> 
> Of course, we see in the show that Grogu becomes quite the loud trouble maker and advocate for himself.


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes, battle strategy practice came up naturally. Actually, it was most of the time, to be honest.

It started simple enough. The womp rat was in the sink, splashing at Mando. To retaliate, Mando flicked water in his face. Knowing he could not lose to such an opponent, the bugger took the tiny cup floating by him and dumped it on Mando’s chest.

So now it was serious.

Mando muttered a curse and quickly decided this was the end of bath time, which only fueled the child’s bloodlust more. He grabbed a hairbrush and smacked the beskar beast, who was slightly offended but expecting it. Next, he made his escape as the beast was getting a towel.

The beast howled a mighty “get back here!”

No, the child would not get back there. He was on a mission. A mission to get under the pilot chair where he would best the beast.

It was a noble effort. Truly awe-inspiring. The child managed to sneak out of the fresher without even stifling his babbling. He made it down the hall, and up the ladder. Alas, the beast was very tall, and very fast, and plucked him off of the ladder, setting his fate to be enclosed in a towel forever. Defeated once again.

“Can we just have one time you don’t escape? I’d kill to have a warm bath, kid, and you’re just running away.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one and the next one are pretty similar and short but they've been sitting in my drafts for a while so... better than nothing lol. promise I'll come up with something quicker or longer next time, been busy

Din sits back in his chair, helmet off, letting himself relax for a moment after a.... difficult... mission. But they will be fed from it, the Razor Crest will get repairs, so it’s worth it.

It’s a nice moment of peace. The light pollution on the planet is low, low enough he decided he did want the free pamphlet about the planet—somehow which was both a seedy underground and filled with vacation retreats—and was now trying to identify the stars from it.

Suddenly, the kid is in his lap. Din doesn’t know if the child is getting better at stealth, or if he’s becoming more clueless as time goes on. The kid was probably rotting away some part of his brain, but it didn’t really matter, did it?

“You should be asleep.”

The kid sat wide-eyed, tiny hands on the pamphlet.

“These are the planet’s stars,” Din begins, and the child is enraptured, “do you want to learn them?”

The kid warbles out a string of excitement.

“Okay, but you’re sleeping in tomorrow, got it? Or else no more stars.”

The child smiles. They both know it’s an empty threat.

“That one is Qug, and next to it is Eweod star system—”


	7. Chapter 7

Din rolled the ball in his hand wondering why the kid even liked this thing so much. Maybe he just liked shiny things. Rolling the ball, watching his metal reflection swirl, trying to figure out why a baby liked shiny things. That was where he was in life. He didn’t expect it, but it also wasn’t unpleasant.

There was a noise downstairs, and so he put the ball down to investigate.

Of course, it was just the kid.

“I thought I told you it was time to sleep.”

Big eyes looked up at him, tiny green arms stretched outwards.

He picked the kid up, which was rewarded with a coo, and put him back on his bed, rewarding him a pout.

“You have to sleep. You’re tiny. And you ran around a lot today.”

The pout deepened.

“No.”

And deepened.

“It’s time for bed.”

But the kid sat there, looking pissed as all hell, and held out his arms once again.

“I have repairs I need to do,” he did not, in fact, have repairs he needed to do, “you have to sleep here tonight.”

The tiny arms stayed out.

“Fine. Fine,” Din picked up the child, who immediately cooed and warbled, making himself comfortable in the crook of an elbow, “but we aren’t doing this all night again, got it?” And Din sat himself down in his own bed, occasionally rocking the tiny menace.

He found himself waking up still sat upright, holding the child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to leave suggestions for the next chapters


	8. Chapter 8

Din found himself waking up yet again to the sound of tearing fabric. Quickly, he turned towards the wall and took the little womp rat off of it.

“No. No scratching there.”

The child looked at him sadly, making grabby hands towards the headboard for the small cabinet’s bed.

The fabric would have to be replaced. Again.

He grabbed one of the child’s small hands, investigating the claws. They were brighter now, and Mando quietly wondered if he’d find small bits of them on his sheets again.

So he decided to file them. Well, he tried. The kid was having none of it, eventually using his power to make it harder and harder for Din to get near his hands and feet. He put down the file angrily.

“What am I suppose to do? You can’t just keep tearing my bed up!”

The child shot him big, sad eyes.

“No. I am the adult here—”

The eyes intensified, accentuated with a small frown.

“You can’t just tear fabric up, kid.”

The kid replied with a small sad babble, and Din sighed. So this was going to be a thing now, wasn’t it? Getting something for the kid to scratch at was really going to be added to the haphazard baby proofing list in Din’s head.

——

They were in a pet store, and Mando hated the fact he was actually standing in a pet store with the child looking at everything with excitement. Every time someone called the kid a pet he wanted to stab them, really. But now he was in a pet store. Sighing, he put the child down.

“Do not eat anything.”

All he got was a look of ‘you can’t tell me that!’ and the child making off on his stubby legs.

This is the way, he repeated mentally. 

The Mandalorian made his way over to the counter, the clerk looking unfazed.

“If your pet damages anything, you buy it.”

“He’s not a pet.”

“If your kid damages anything, you buy it,” the clerk reiterated, “no exceptions.”

He nodded. “Do you have anything for a clawed animal to scratch at?”

The clerk pointed over to a far shelf, filled with branches and towers covered in twine. “Bait’s in the back, by the way. I’m assuming you’re gonna try to catch something by your get up.”

“...thanks.”

All considering, the kid would probably happily agree on bait. Bugger did enjoy his protein fresh. But Mando was not planning on following through on every whim the child had.

——

Just as he was going to approve a post— one that didn’t tip over when pushed, was covered in twine, and came up to about his hip, the kid came running towards him, chittering up a storm. In his hands, he held a package of metallic crinkly balls.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s get out of here.”

They did a final once over of the store, seeing if there was anything else that would make life easier. Really, this place wasn’t even exactly a pet store, considering Din found himself finding strangers buying items obviously for themselves. That did make him feel better about the whole situation. The child made a cooing noise as he pointed to a cooked bone, with tendons and bits of meat still attached. Din added it to the cart. He also added a scales and callouses moisturizing wax with gauze, because he honestly didn’t know what the kid’s feet were, but he knew they were pretty ugly and tough.

All in all, it was a nice trip. When they got home Mando did have to teach the child how to use the post (who picked up on it quickly and happily climbed it to finally file his feet down) and do _not eat the crinkle balls_. Now just the dent in his wallet would have to be made up eventually, and things could carry on as normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> baby have claws, baby have teeth, baby likes to eat fresh meat  
> also, I should have come up with a better name than pet store, but whatever. a friend did point out this has to be normal in this verse and I completely agree


	9. Chapter 9

Din wasn’t expecting much of this backwater planet, he just needed somewhere to keep the kid for a small while. They had the money to stop for a bit. So, it was quite a surprise when a Gungan Mandalorian paid for the soup he was buying and led them back to a table. He was even more surprised when there were three foundlings sitting at it.

Two twi'leks, both looking not much older than four or so. The pink one was holding a tiny bundle— a human infant with facial deformities.

“Care to stay awhile?”

“I— are you taking care of all three of them alone?”

“It is the way.”

“It is the way,” Mando repeated.

“I see you have one yourself. You the one with the bounty over your head?”

There weren’t enough chairs for both Mando and the child, so he positioned the kid on his lap as he happily ate his broth, making cooing noises at the other children.

The pink Twi'lek set the infant on the table— which the other Mandalorian was quick to pick up— and started babbling back to the child, as the other, green, Twi'lek shifted closer to her sister.

“Yes. What about it?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they said, “just wondering if you need lodging.”

“Oh— uh, yes. Thank you. I actually have to ask you something...”

———

The Gungan led him and the child back to his “covert”. It wasn’t a real one, of course, the Gungan had admitted that themself. They hoped one day it might be, with a proper armory, training center, halls, and bedrooms. Currently, though, it was just a house woven from vines and trees, covered with a mishmash of leaves and tarps. Their bedroom just being a bed on the floor, the dining hall being the porch, and the training area a muddy clearance.

But the young foundlings didn’t seem to notice. The two twi’lek girls, Feen, who was pink, and Jiljoo, the green one, thought this was an average covert. The two fought each other with obviously handmade wooden spears. The babe, barely six months old and yet the same size as Mando’s own foundling, probably wouldn’t notice anything weird about his covert either.

“You’re obviously allowed to stay as long as you need to.”

“Thank you. I’ve been tasked with finding my foundling’s kind, though.”

“It is the way.”

“It is the way.”

The child stood by the babe, not really understanding why he wasn’t walking around like the rest of them. He stared back at his father, wanting an answer.

“He’s just a baby, kid.”

The child babbled back, unpleased.

“He’s a human,” the Gungan added. “We all grow differently."

The child huffed, and sat across from the baby, staring.

Mando watched, and the Gungan left to correct his foundlings’ posture.

The baby and child obviously didn’t know what to make of each other. The human reached out and tried to grab the other’s ear, but was met with a whine and having his hand pushed away.

Din grabbed a nearby scrap of fabric and squatted down to their level. The kids watched, easily enraptured by the activities of a Mandalorian. He covered his face with the fabric, then dropped it, exclaiming a soft “boo!” The babe was interested, and grew more entertained as the game continued, clapping and happily cooing. Din handed the fabric to his foundling, and soon the two kids were having a rather exciting time.

They stayed at the “covert” for two weeks or so. It was pretty nice, actually, and Din often found himself wanting to stay longer. But, he had a job to do.

They left on good terms, the Gungan promising to contact them if they heard about any Jedi, and that they could always come back if needed. Din, in return, promised to notify the Gungan if he found any coverts they could join with their foundlings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been thinking a while about other mandalorians, and have seen other fics add them, so decided to give it a go myself


	10. Chapter 10

The child wears very tiny clothes, and while yes, Din knows how to repair and darn them, they’ve slowly become more of a mishmash of random thread than actual clothing.

So, he is tasked with a mission of the utmost importance. Finding something else the kid would wear. A truly frightening task, considering the last time he tried he learned the child was averse to many fabrics. An accidentally broken finger was enough for Din to stop trying until now.

——

“Ad'ika,” Din tries to ignore how often he’s been calling the child that, “I can remove the tags. Please. You need new clothes.”

The child pouts, burying himself further into his robes.

Din sighs.

“All of these are nice fabrics, see,” he brings a small garment to the child, rubbing the material between his fingers, “soft.”

The child gurgles something upset, and Din puts the tiny clothing back.

“What if I let you pick, huh? You want to pick something?”

Kid’s eyes widen at the offer, arms immediately out to be picked up. Din does as promised, watching in a form of awe he didn’t know how quite to place as the child cooed and frowned at the difference of materials. After a few moments, there’s a distinct interest in some of the clothing.

The first thing to gain the child’s attention is a dark blue kirtle, somehow in his size. A baggy coarseweave chemise was also pulling the child’s attention, and was thusly added to the pile. No coats caught the child’s attention, which was frustrating, but doable. His current one would do, at least for a little while.

Getting multiples of both, his pockets were lighter, but at least he could burn that off-white and stained tunic the kid was so fond of. No matter how many times Din washed the thing, it always had a vague sent of dirt and piss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure if i like this one but I will project my sensory sensitivities onto grogu and blame the force


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one and the next one are not only being uploaded on mobile but haven’t been checked over with my usual software so yeah. And they’re Grogu’s POV!

Buttons. A lot of buttons and levers and his ball.   
Buir was asleep. 

The buttons were _his_ and _his alone_. 

It had taken all of his finessed skill to achieve this grand scheme. Jedi teaching him to walk, him knowing what a ladder was, remembering how buir would move his chair. 

Grogu climbed his throne, silent as one could be, and admired his treasure. 

Buttons. Levers. The ball!

Grab, push, twist, pull— the ship rocked around and he chittered happily, then remembered to tell the ship to be quiet. This is a secret mission. Only him and the ship could know of it. 

“What are you doing out of bed?” His spine stiffened, the natural hoarder of buttons, buir, was there as he turned to face the ominous voice. 

He tried explaining. Explaining how they had to share, explaining how he should learn to fly the ship anyway, explaining he wanted to touch things which was actually very reasonable. Buir touched things all the time! Even other people touched things! 

But his pleas were unheard, and he was plucked from his now meaningless throne. He tried to fight, but buir just said “no, you’re going to get us killed,” very seriously, and went down the ladder. His life was over, now, Grogu realized as he was placed in his bed. His life was over and the buttons would never be touched. He let out a mournful cry for his loses, as such is customary, buir shifting to his side to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember chapter 8

It was a long day, too loud and bloody and deadly. He knows he loves the world, he loves his Mando, but sometimes everything is too familiar and it scares him. He _hates_ hating to be quiet and still- reminds him of laying in the dark, reminds him of fire, reminds him of off smelling persons laughing and throwing him. 

But he was back at the ship, and could feel his person tensing every moment. 

“Buir,” his metal man said, crouching down, pointing at himself, “I am your buir until further notice.”

He didn’t really understand. He kept his finger in his mouth as he warbled back at his metal man.

“It means I’m taking care of you until further notice. Like you’re my own.”

_Oh_. He understood that. Sort of. 

“You’re a foundling now, and I’m here to protect you. This is the way.”

He took his hand out of his mouth, and held his _buir’s_ face. His _buir_ softly head butted him, sending out waves of _love you, find help for you_ , and _you will be safe, you won’t be alone_. He giggled and warbled back, sending _love you love you love you buir love you warm safe happy fed love you._

Buir gently held the back of his head, petting the hairs down so so softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was particularly roughy draft-y lol. Still open for suggestions. Gotta say I love all the comments even if I don’t reply!!!!


	13. Chapter 13

He was never really good with children. He never really liked them. They didn’t seem to care one way or another, the children at the covert never asking to play, or leaving if he sat by them.

Maybe he just didn’t like people in general, after watching what they could do. After seeing what he’s done. 

The child becomes different. He doesn’t know how, but he does. As if all of a sudden, he’s just a Mandalorian doing his duty, to a buir and his ade. 

Maybe, he thinks, the armorer wasn’t the one who made him officially a father. 

He doesn’t know and doesn’t try to think about it much. The child needs food, needs clothes, needs sleep, needs warmth, needs to be held. The child needs someone to teach him to not die, whether it be from ingesting toxic bugs or sucking on wires. The child needs someone to pilot the ship, someone to bring home money, someone to clean him. The kid is tiny and frail and can’t do much, but somehow also manages to be able to do  _ too much _ . 

This child, who is gleefully tearing apart old rags, because Din needed stuffing for a new pillow for him, since the last one disappeared, somehow. 

“You’re doing great kid,” says Din, and the child smiles, quirking his little head. “Good job.”


End file.
